It was the first day back after summer, and like every other proud parent, I wanted a picture. Brooke stood by the big oak tree in front of our house, her new backpack hanging off one shoulder, her braids freshly done. She gave me that tight-lipped smile kids do when they’re humoring you but really just want to leave.

I snapped a few shots. The lighting was perfect. Then—

I saw it.

Coiled on a low branch, barely a foot from Brooke’s head, was a snake. Not a garden snake, either—something bigger, darker. I don’t know much about snakes, but I know enough to recognize when one shouldn’t be that close to my child.

My stomach clenched.

“Brooke, come here,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

She didn’t move. Instead, she gave me that “Ugh, Mom” look. “I’m not done taking pics,” she muttered, adjusting her stance like she was in some kind of photoshoot.

I swallowed hard. I couldn’t panic, couldn’t scream. If she turned too fast, if she startled it—

“Brooke,” I said again, this time lower, firmer. “Get away from the tree. Now.”

Something in my face must’ve registered because her expression shifted. She hesitated, but then—thank God—she took a slow step toward me. Then another.

As soon as she was close enough, I grabbed her hand and pulled her behind me. My heart was hammering. She started to protest, but then she followed my gaze and froze.

“Mom…” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

The snake lifted its head slightly, tongue flicking out.

I tightened my grip on her wrist. “Go inside,” I said.

She didn’t argue. She ran.

Now it was just me, the morning sun, and that darn snake.

I took a careful step back, pulse racing. I’d never been squeamish about wildlife, but this was different. My daughter had almost brushed against it. One quick strike at the wrong moment… I felt a shiver crawl up my spine.

Trying not to make any sudden moves, I backed away from the oak tree, then hurried inside the house. I closed the door behind me, heart still pounding. Brooke was standing in the foyer, eyes wide.

“Did you see how big it was?” she whispered.

I nodded, catching my breath. “Yeah. It looked at least a couple feet long—couldn’t tell what kind, but definitely bigger than a harmless garden snake.”

She pressed her lips together, still tense. “What if it’s still there? How am I supposed to get to school?”

I glanced at the clock on the microwave. “We’ve got about fifteen minutes before you absolutely have to leave,” I said, forcing calm into my voice. “Let me make a call. I’ll see if we can get it out of the yard.”

“Who are you gonna call?” she asked, frowning. “Dad?”

My husband, Reggie, was already at work, and he’s not exactly the best when it comes to snakes. He once freaked out over a tiny garter snake in our garden. This one would send him into orbit.

“I’ll call someone else,” I said. “An expert.”

Thankfully, our town has a small wildlife hotline—an animal control number that helps relocate creatures like raccoons, possums, and yes, snakes. I dialed the number, gave them a quick rundown, and they promised to send someone within the hour. Since school started in less than half that time, we had to figure out a temporary plan.

Brooke stared at me, anxiety plain on her face. “Mom, I don’t want to go near that tree again.”

I reached for my car keys. “I’ll pull the car out from the garage,” I said. “We’ll drive right past it and straight to school.”

She let out a breath of relief. “Okay.”

I did exactly that—pressed the garage door remote, jumped in the driver’s seat, and inched the car onto the street. Brooke dashed to the passenger door without so much as a sideways glance at the yard. Once she was inside, we locked the doors (as if that made a difference for a snake) and headed off.

During the short drive, Brooke was quiet at first, but then she spoke up. “Mom, do you think this means something?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Means something like what?”

She shifted in her seat. “I don’t know. My first day of seventh grade, and a snake almost bites me?”

I forced a small laugh, trying to keep the mood light. “I think it was just a weird coincidence. Besides, it didn’t bite you. You’re safe, right?”

She nodded, gaze fixed on the passing houses. After a pause, she let out a shaky sigh. “I guess I’m okay.”

We pulled up to the school’s drop-off line, which was surprisingly busy but moving quickly. Brooke grabbed her backpack, leaned over to give me a hug—something she rarely did in public. I squeezed her tight, heart still fluttering from the near-miss that morning.

“Have a good day,” I said softly.

She nodded. “Text me if, you know, animal control says anything about the snake.”

“Promise,” I replied, and watched her hop out of the car.

I got back home and spotted a white pickup truck parked in front of our house. A woman in khaki pants and a polo shirt with the logo “Goldwood Wildlife Services” stood on the sidewalk, scanning the branches of the oak tree. She turned as I stepped out of my car.

“Morning,” she said, offering a small smile. “Are you the one who called?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I answered. “I’m Carissa.”

“Tanya,” she said, extending her hand. “Where’d you see the snake?”

I pointed. “On that low branch, near the trunk. I don’t see it now, though.”

She nodded thoughtfully, then walked over to her truck to grab a long snake hook and a cloth bag. I followed behind at a safe distance, my stomach twisting with nervous energy.

Tanya circled the tree, scanning every branch. “Snakes will often move when they sense a disturbance,” she explained. “It might be in the bushes now or somewhere in the grass.”

I peered around my yard, suddenly aware of every rustle in the leaves. My mind kept replaying how close it was to Brooke’s head.

“Any chance you got a photo of it?” Tanya asked.

I blinked. “A photo? Oh—actually, I might.” My heart thumped at the memory of snapping pictures right before I noticed the snake. “It might be in the background of the shots I took of my daughter.”

I scrolled through the camera roll on my phone, found the best one, and zoomed in. Sure enough, behind Brooke’s forced smile was the blurry outline of a dark, thick-bodied snake coiled on the branch.

Tanya squinted at the image. “Hard to see clearly, but it might be a black rat snake. They can be a bit larger, but they’re generally not aggressive if left alone.”

Relief crept in. “So not venomous, right?”

“Rat snakes aren’t venomous,” she confirmed. “They actually help control rodent populations. But I get it—the last thing you want is a big snake next to your daughter’s face.”

I felt a wave of tension release from my shoulders. “Exactly.”

Tanya carefully scanned the area for several more minutes, then paused near the fence. “Look here.” She pointed to a faint trail in the dewy grass, heading toward our neighbor’s yard. “It probably slithered off that way. I’ll check if our neighbor is home.”

My neighbor, Mr. Leonard, an older gentleman who prides himself on his pristine lawn, answered the door with a cup of coffee in hand. He looked from Tanya to me and raised an eyebrow. “Morning, Carissa. Everything okay?”

Tanya explained the situation, and his eyes widened a bit. “A snake? Big one?”

“Possibly a black rat snake,” Tanya said. “They’re around this region, especially near wood piles or old sheds.”

He sighed. “Well, I do have that storage shed at the back of the property. Haven’t cleaned under it in years. It’s probably a buffet for mice, so I guess a snake wouldn’t be too surprising.”

Tanya nodded. “Mind if I take a look?”

He gestured for us to follow. Sure enough, behind his shed, there were some scattered boards and tarps—a perfect hiding place. As soon as Tanya shone a flashlight, we caught movement. She crouched down and gently used her snake hook to lift the tail end of a large black rat snake.

“That’s our friend,” she murmured, calm and professional.

The snake’s body glistened in the sunlight, at least four feet long. It flailed a bit, clearly not happy about being disturbed. Mr. Leonard took a cautious step back, and I froze, adrenaline surging again. But Tanya had a firm grip with her tool.

She slipped the snake into the cloth bag, twisting the top to keep it secure. “Don’t worry,” she said, giving me a reassuring smile. “I’ll relocate it to a local wooded area where it can hunt rodents without scaring families.”

With the snake bagged, I felt like I could breathe again. Mr. Leonard wiped the sweat from his brow. “Thank you,” he told Tanya. Then he looked at me. “Sorry if the old shed is drawing them in.”

I shrugged, still a little shaky. “I’m just glad it’s not venomous and that it’s not in my tree anymore.”

Tanya headed back to her truck, the snake secured. “I’ll fill out some paperwork and be on my way. Let me know if you see any others.”

I thanked her profusely. Once she left, I walked slowly to my front door. The yard felt safe again. Just to be sure, I took a quick lap around the big oak, checking the branches. It was free and clear. My heart finally settled, and I realized just how drained I felt.

Later that afternoon, after Brooke got home from school, she was full of first-day stories—complaining about her math teacher’s strict rules and gushing about lunch with her friends. It was only after dinner, when we were both cleaning up the dishes, that she turned to me and asked, “So, what happened with that snake?”

I told her about Tanya from wildlife services, how it was likely a black rat snake, and how it got relocated to a more suitable habitat. Brooke bit her lip, replaying the morning in her mind. “So it wasn’t dangerous?” she asked, her voice laced with both relief and a hint of lingering fear.

“Well,” I said gently, “it wasn’t venomous, but a snake that size can still bite if it feels threatened. I’m just glad we saw it before anything bad happened.”

She nodded, letting out a breath. “Yeah. Me too.”

We finished the dishes, then I followed her into the living room. She sat on the couch, scrolling through her phone. After a moment, she looked up. “Hey, Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we see the pictures? The ones you took this morning?”

I unlocked my phone and handed it over. She flicked through them, her expression shifting from excitement (seeing her outfit and hair looking great) to shock (zooming in on the snake behind her). I heard her exhale slowly. “That is so freaky,” she mumbled.

I sat beside her. “You know,” I said, my tone thoughtful, “sometimes things happen that remind us we have to pay attention to what’s going on around us. Maybe next time, when I tell you to move, you’ll trust me?”

Brooke gave a small grin. “Yeah, sorry about that. I was so focused on the photo, I didn’t realize you were telling me to do something important.”

I put an arm around her shoulders. “You weren’t the only one who was scared. I’m just glad we handled it okay.”

She nodded, leaning into me for a rare cuddly moment. “Mom, next time, can we just do a quick selfie near the front door?”

I laughed, ruffling her braids. “Deal.”

A few days later, I was scrolling through social media and saw a post from Tanya’s wildlife service page. She’d written about relocating a large rat snake from a suburban neighborhood, explaining how they’re vital for controlling pests and how we should do our best to respect them—just give them space when we see them.

I smiled, thinking back to how terrified I’d been in that instant—yet how it all turned out fine. I even left a comment, thanking her for her help. In a small way, that snake taught me something: fear is valid, but knowledge is power. Once I knew it wasn’t venomous, it changed my perspective.

I also realized how important it is to stay calm in scary situations—especially when your child is involved. Panicking might have made Brooke freak out, which could have led to a sudden move and a snake bite. Sometimes, you have to steady yourself even when you’re trembling inside, if only because someone else needs you to.

Life has a way of throwing unexpected scares at us—like finding a snake a foot from your kid’s head on a morning you thought would be perfectly normal. But it’s how we respond that shapes our experiences. Brooke and I both learned something that day: never ignore that little voice telling you to stop, pay attention, or step away. And always, always trust the people who are looking out for you—whether that’s a parent, a friend, or an expert willing to step in.

We ended up with a pretty dramatic back-to-school story, but more importantly, we came away safe, and the snake got a new home. Fear isn’t always a bad thing—it keeps you alert and reminds you of what matters most. We can’t control every threat or every freak occurrence in our lives. But we can control how we react, how we communicate, and how we protect each other.

If this story got you thinking about staying calm under pressure, learning more about the creatures in your neighborhood, or simply trusting your gut (and your mom!), go ahead and share it with a friend. And if you found it helpful or interesting, please like this post—it helps spread the word that a little caution and a little knowledge can make all the difference in a scary situation.

Thanks for reading, and may your mornings—and your back-to-school photos—be snake-free.